


his lips like tangerine

by sultrygoblin



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Creampie, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Smut, unprotected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28125441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrygoblin/pseuds/sultrygoblin
Summary: one shot - you're wrapped around me, held me, made me want to stay. and i should have known. cause they warned me. i can't let you go
Relationships: Cobb Vanth/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	his lips like tangerine

**Author's Note:**

> dilf rights! just....no one stopped me, so who’s fault is it really?

“What’s a pretty little lady like you doin’ in a sand pit like this?”

That’s where it all started. Where else could it with a man like him? You’re turning your head, a default response to the overused line on your lips, when you caught those eyes. They remind you of the trees back home. And it only got better from there. Suddenly, you don’t really know what to say because you’ve never wanted to _actually_ answer the question before. You sip your drink, letting your eyes wonder over the jutting angles of his face, and how the silvering of his hair only helped to distinguish him as the most handsome man in most rooms.

* * *

“You know, I can’t quite remember now,” smiling over the lip of your drink and feigning far more confidence than you had to make up for the less than intelligent answer. 

Thankfully, it must sound as purposefully mysterious as you had hoped it would because he slips himself in the empty space beside you at the counter and raises his hand for a spotchka. And he’s smiling at you like no one’s ever smiled at you before, you take another sip to ground you, leaving your cup empty and open for him to buy you another. That should be where it all goes downhill. Isn’t it always? But after a few too many drinks and guilty admission you hadn’t found yourself a place to sleep, you take him up on his offer of a soft place to sleep. Warily, mayor he may be. And good at playing kind with that pretty smile. But it didn’t mean your lower brain had _completely_ taken over the upper. 

He’s good on his word. Offering you the lifted cot in the corner as he tries to push through the booze and figure out his own makeshift bed. He’s earnest, denying you three times when you tell him to join you. When he finally does, it’s with firm promises to keep his hands to himself. And he manages.

For the most part. He doesn’t exactly break his word in the worst way. That warm Tatooine morning that’s only going to get warmer. It’s sleepy instinct that puts you in the position you are, just enough spotchka left to forget neither of you were really alone and keeping your flesh hot as it ran itself out of your system. The rising temperature and heat slicked skin was no fight for the instinctual desire to hold. His bare front traps the back of your undershirt between the two of you, hot breath and whisker brushing along your skin. 

Your drowsiness stalls any reaction, but not your awareness when you began to wake slowly. There’s the thought you should get up, slip out of here, and find somewhere else to settle. But there’s something about the man behind you and the way he holds you like he plans on loving you someday. You don’t completely hate the idea of that. You feign slumber, knowing it’s easier to pretend to be asleep than it is to admit you don't want to leave and you just don’t know why. 

“And here I was thinkin’ it was just a good dream,” he hums from behind you, arm tightening ever so slightly around your waist as he uses his own waking as a flimsy excuse to drag his face along your shoulder blades, “You never answered my question. What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like Freetown?”

You feel his chest rise and fall against you, the goosebumps and hairs rise on his arm when you drag your fingertips along it thoughtfully, “What a lot of people have been trying to do since everything’s changed,” you sighed, feeling your body curling back tighter against even though you don’t remember telling it to, “Trying to find somewhere that almost feels like home.”

“Strange thing to look for here,” he notes, dropping the act altogether, dragging is lips in soft pecks up the column of your neck, “Any particular reason?”

“This is where my ride was going,” you shrug, but you don’t feel so sure about your answer, eyes fluttering shut as lightning jumped from your neck to your spine, to the tips of your fingers, “Sounds like you may have a thought or two.”

You can feel him smile, his chuckle making your stomach explode with butterflies, his thumb gathering the sticky fabric of your shirt as he stroked the curve of your waist, “Sometimes home isn’t always a place, is all,” his voice gentler than his kisses beside your ear, “But since _this_ is a home, seems like you might like a shower after your travels.”

He lets you stay when he goes off to do whatever it was. You have to do your own laundry and hang it on the line. But there are shirts to borrow and nowhere you need to be. Instead, you explore his life. What little of it there is to find and piece together. You’re sure whatever came before wasn’t kind, up until recently one of the planet’s main exports had been slaves. You get lost in exploring the knick knacks and poorly hidden weapons in the outcropping hut.

“You’re still here.”

That’s where it all really kicked off. He doesn’t sound annoyed, like you’ve overstayed you welcome as you’d been worrying about, instead of working the dust out of your now dry clothes, for the last hour at least. It’s more like he’s trying to pretend like he hasn’t spent all day hoping you would be and doing a bad job at it. Something you’re all together thankful for because you wouldn’t have picked up on it if it had been anything but obvious at this point. 

“Didn’t have much else to do. I was actually supposed to spend last night looking for a job,” point at him with an accusing finger from your cross legged position in the middle of the surprisingly comfortable cot, “And a room.”

“Stay here,” he says with a shrug, tugging off his boots as he watches your face twist in a whole mess of emotion he can’t begin to pick out but he’s going to assume most of it isn’t good, “Mayor _and_ sheriff. You name a safer place.”

You’re shaking your head before words begin, never a good sign, and he hurries with toeing off his shoes, “I don’t want to impose.”

“Well, I want you to,” finally making his way across the floor as he tugged off his scarf and outer layer, dropping it on the floor as he focus on his current mission, “In fact, I spent all day thinkin’ about how I would like just that,” _you._

Every part of you knows, “That’s an insane idea,” but the idea he can’t get his mind off you isn’t something you want to let go of, “Just gonna let a stranger move into your house?” you’ve spent the better of today getting to know him, not accounting for all the gossip you’d heard twittering around since you’d stepped foot in the town.

“Not a stranger,” he counters, seeming to loom over when he stops at the end of the bed, “Just a girl I haven’t gotten to know yet,” dropping his knee on the edge of the bed when you rolled your lip between your teeth, nails coasting the seams at the cuffs of the shirt you wore, “I tell you what. You look me in the eye and tell me this mornin’ didn't feel like a home you just hadn’t settled yet and I’ll let you walk outta that door with a few credits for the road.”

And he’s looking at you- Maker he’s looking at you like you’d hung every star from here to wild space. He’s right, you know he is, but there’s some part of you that can’t say, can’t believe this is happening. Nothing good happens to you. Your mouth opens and closes, you hope he knows, hope that he can see in your pleading eyes you’re desperate to say something but too scared of the seeming unstoppable urge to lie.

“Don’t gotta say nothin’,” he speaks, voice soft and firm, “You come here and I’ll do the rest,” holding his hand out to you, eyes pleading for you to take it, “Let someone else take care of you for a change.”

He means it. You’ve been on the wrong end of enough of the worst kind of men to recognize when one of the good ones was in front of you. Your fingers shake all the same as they stretch towards him. His smile makes you a bit more confident, uncrossing your legs to roll on your knees when his fingers slipped between yours, and made balancing unnecessary when he yanked you against him. 

There’s no time to catch your breath because he’s stealing it with his lips, kissing you so thoroughly you’re not sure if any time before this counted. His hand holds the curve of your neck, thumb caressing the hollow of your neck, fingers spreading beneath the collar of his pilfered shirt across your shoulder. Pressing your hand to his chest before dropping his own to curl around your waist and haul you even closer to him. Something you hadn’t thought was possible and found was entirely so. His lips are dry and cracking from the dry heat, the taste of copper slips across the tip of your tongue and you find yourself tracing its source. A small split in the corner of his lip, but it’s the truest taste of him, and now you know it. Every second he’ll discover something more about you and what came before this moment will seem less important. 

“Tell me the truth,” you gasp against his lips, working eagerly at the buttons of his shirt as he chased your lips, stealing them for another few seconds before you convinced yourself to drag yourself away just once more, “Were you looking for me?”

His grin stretches his whiskers across your cheeks in a way that makes you shiver when he deepens the kiss, tongue dipping past your old chapped lips and grip tightening ever so slightly on your neck. Your moan is quiet. Barely there, but he feels it in his grip. He pushes you forward, pressing you back against the bed, and hovering over you between your spread legs as he tossed his shirt to the ground.

“Someone like you doesn’t walk into a town like this without a few whispers,” he confesses, his lips dragging along the curve of your jaw, the different sensations drawing another moan from you, your fingers dragging along the lean muscles of his back and torso pulls one of his own to match, “Wanted to see if they were true is all,” his fingertips circle each button deliberately, forcing you to focus on him pinching them open and the fabric slipping further and further down your sides, “Turns out they hadn’t done my pretty girl justice.”

It’s something about all three of the words, the compliment, being his, all of it as your entire torso lay bare to him and he groaned. Things are different now, the world is different, and he's right. Here, with him, it could be home. His mouth drags along your chest, taking a tender mouthful of your breast when he’d reached the swell, teeth digging ever so lightly into you before trading to encircle around your nipple. His tongue making you gasp, back arching. Your fingers curling in his hair is when the beeping of his door alarm ran through.

His groan is one of disappointment but he’s still got his lips wrapped around you and it makes you squeak, forcing a smile to his face no matter how much he tried to hide it. Cobb might’ve even tried to get away with a little more if it hadn’t rung again.

“Go on,” you sighed, smiling even through your annoyance, “We have time.”

His smile morphs into a grin that presses against your lips hard enough to steal your breath and still feel him even when he’s gone from you. 

“Don’t go anywhere,” he points at you, slipping his feet back into his shoes, “In fact, don’t even bother doin’ that back up. Can’t afford to lose another shirt,” grinning at you when he pinch it closed so he can open the door, “This better be something good,” his steps heavy on the wooden porch, the door sliding close before nosey eyes could pry.

You sit up slowly, fingers absent-mindedly exploring where his kiss had been, the slightly raw skin from his scruff. You ease the shirt off, tucking it beside the edge of the bed, and pulling the worn linen blanket over you. It was much cooler without spotchka and Cobb to keep you company. 

You knew it was odd, this infatuation with a man you barely knew, but it had been forced into your mind over and over throughout the years that life was not easy. It was unexpected and pushed you in all sorts of directions you’d never expected to go. It’s just the choices you made when you got there. You had not expected Cobb in the lease bit but he felt like a pretty good decision. Everyone had something nice to say about him, and the criminals hated him. _Let someone else take care of you for a change._ You know what he meant in the moment, but when combined with now...

How could he be so sure? It’s the questioning you’re mulling over when he walks back in just a short while later, a little bruised up but no more worse for wear. This time there’s absolutely no surprise. He knows he’s caught you and he wants _you_ to know it. There’s no preamble. By the time he’s beside the bed, he’s just gotten the buttons of his pants undone when he yanks back the blanket and climb over you. Almost like he hadn’t left. Except now you’re sure you should be here. You’re sure of what you want. And you know what he wants. It’s hard days and lonely nights when an entire town’s well-being rests on his shoulders. It’s nice to come home to someone who’s wants are simple, who doesn’t ask more than he can give. 

“How _exactly_ were you planning on taking care of me?” you asked, the lilt of your voice filling it with both the sweet and salacious subtext you intended. 

Cobb grins at you and it takes away everything that isn’t him and all the moments like this one you’ll share, “I was hopin’ you’d ask me somethin’ like that.”

Kissing him feels different now, it’s like he knows it too. Grinning against your lips while his fingers gripped your thigh, the small of your back arched when you aim to hook your knee around his hips. You know you’ve got all night, you’ve got days, but he’s been working you up since he met you. He knows it, stopping the motion with a tightening of his fingers.

“Calm down, baby girl,” he breathes, teeth nipping at your lower lip before easing himself down your body, past your breasts, lower and lower, “I’m gonna take care of you, remember?”

You’ve had a few experiences with inexpert male fumbling between your thighs. He is nothing like that. He nuzzles his cheek against your thigh, his whiskers tickling is pleasant, some small promise of what’s coming. The tip of his tongue parts your lips, brushing gently against that electric bundle of nerves that makes you gasp. You force your body back against the bed, wanting to look down and see your fingers lost in his silvered hair. His pupil blown gaze distracts you, pulling a low moan from you that made him hum with an approval that heats your cheeks. 

It isn’t long before the tension in you suddenly snaps. It’s been so long and he’s so perfect- you expect him to stop when your thighs tighten around his ears and your high-pitched moans slow. It’s a quick rise and sudden fall that leads to the next part. Two fingers slip between your folds and tease your hole, swirling his tongue as he eased them into you.

“Dank farrik!” your body tries to shoot up and his stopped by his strong hand on your sternum, keeping you tight against the bed, “I can’t- I can’t-” your voice ragged, legs twitching.

“I think ya can,” he mumbles, the words riddled with encouragement as he crooks his fingers, “I know what my girl needs,” words slurring as he lowered himself to taste you once more.

Your eyes threatened to roll back into your skull entirely, nails scraping his scalp. The drag of him inside you, his tongue making your walls flutter around him, tighter and tighter with each pass. You want to be frustrated he’s right, but his thumb stroking your skin and the way he looks up at you makes it impossible. It’s a strange feeling, knowing someone’s happiness hangs on the precipice of your pleasure was terrifying.

“There you go,” soft, sticky sweet kisses lay across your hips, “It’s alright,” his fingers spreading lightly, pressing against your impossibly tight walls and tossing you over the edge, “I got you.”

He’s up your body in an instant. Forehead to forehead, nose to nose, your muted moans and choked whines tumbling across his lips. You can smell the dampness that lingers on his lips and the hair surrounding it, feel his warm breath pressing against you as he presses against that spot inside you had once been sure no man knew about. Hardened nipples rub against the smattering of hair across his hard chest when you arched, a moan finally escaping as it all hit you full force. You press your lips hungrily to his, bucking against his hand as the wave rolled over you, the crash is bliss. He tastes your whimpers, swallowing them down for him until he’s desperate for air.

Cobb’s warm, “I need you,” gasping against his lips as he slowly pulled the digits from between your thighs, “ _Please_.”

“Do you, baby girl?” his hand already tugging him from the barely there prison of his loosened trousers, groaning when his fingers wrapped around his hardened cock and feeling your wetness against him, “Don’t say somethin’ you don’t mean.”

There’s a teasing to his voice but you can see it in his eyes, he means what he’s saying, “I need you, Cobb,” hips canting towards him, your wet lips brushing against his slowly moving fist, “You feel like _home_.”

He angles himself, his weeping cockhead finally slipping inside you, “That’s ‘cause you were made for me,” he groans, sinking deeper and deeper.

You believe him. It’s been so long and he stretches you so good, something you’re telling him along with every other thought that falls from your lips. There aren’t many of them by the time he’s seated fully inside you. Hip locked against hip, he holds himself there. No rutting against with a powerful need to get what he wants. He wants you to get used to him, feel every bit of him the way he’s feeling every part of you. Each pulse making you clench around him.

“How’d you know?” you finally ask the question that’s been lingering in your mind.

“You get to be my age,” he sighs, holding the curve of your neck in his hand, “You stop second guessing what you feel. And I felt somethin’ with you,” pressing a long, lingering kiss to your lips, “I feel it now,” grinding his hips against yours, your sudden gasp curling his lips in a smirk, “Just like you, pretty girl.”

“Dirty trick,” you murmur, head falling back when he repeated the motion, “Dirty, dirty-”

He pulled himself from you, forcing your gaze suddenly to his right as he sunk back into you firmly. Your legs hook around him, heels pressed into the small of his back as he repeated the motion over and over. You clung to him, every muscle tense, your pleasure always right there on the edge, somewhere only he seems possible of keeping you. He gasps and moans words of comfort. Of encouragement. By the time your orgasm crests you’re bordering on incoherent, not sure what you need. Only that you need it. 

You keep forgetting he knows, “I gotcha, baby girl,” he grunts, moving faster, harder, blazing every nerve ending brighter, “Gonna take care of ya.”

You believe him and allow yourself to lose all semblance of control. You hold on. Moving on instinct. Hips jerking, fingers grabbing, letting him push and bend you where you needed him most. Till you’re on your hands and knees, face buried into the pillow so the whole of Freetown don’t hear your shrieking, while he barrels into you from behind. Seemingly forever in awe of your form with the way his fingertips never stop exploring your sweat slicked skin. You’re so full, overwhelmed, every part of you feels raw, begging for more but desperate for the friction to stop, to get your bearings together for even a second.

His arm curls around your waist, “Getting close,” pulling you back against him, “Feels too good,” like he’s sorry, you growl, head falling back against his shoulder.

“Please” it’s barely a breath, you have to tell him, you _need_ to tell him, “ _Please_ ,” but it’s so hard to grasp onto anything that isn’t his lips on your neck, his fingers pinching your nipples, brushing your clit, “ _Dank farrik!”_

“Fill you up,” finally letting himself follow you with a moan that matches your own, “Make you mine,” pressing upwards, head pulsing against your cervix as he ground against you, “My pretty girl.”

He groans, teeth digging into your shoulder. You’ve never felt anything like the feeling of him losing himself inside you. A sudden surge of heat that made you wonder how much more full of him you could feel. Neither had expected your body's reaction, the sudden shiver that shot straight up your spine and made you clamp around him. He’s so close, he feels like a part of you, and you don’t know if he’s sharing this with you too but it feels right. Falling forward, feeling him grind against you as he milked you of both your orgasms, hungry open-mouthed kisses wherever he could reach. 

He falls beside you on the bed, pulling you close to him and kissing you soundly, “Finally figure out what you’re doing in this sand pit?” he asks with a smirk, hand settling against your thigh when your threw it over his.

“Think I was looking for someone,” you say with a smile, leaning back to meet his eyes, “What about you, Sheriff?”

“Waitin’ for you,” unable to stop himself from stealing another kiss. 


End file.
